Body Image
by Nikitangel
Summary: Xander visits W&H while Angel is still recovering from the events of Smile Time.


**Title**: Body Image  
**Author/LiveJournal**: **nikitangel**  
**Pairing**: Puppet!Angel & Xander (friendship)  
**Rating**: PG  
**Feedback**: Does anyone ever say "Please don't give me feedback" here? Why do they post?  
**Written for**: Puppet!Angel ficathon   
**Dedications**: **swmbo**, for requesting it, **erinalbion** for beta help and a crucial creative inspiration, and **theantijoss**, for excellence in both twinliness and beta-ing.  
  
  
  
"Wolfram & Hart - 'We're Not Evil Anymore'. Angel's office. Harmony speaking." She wrinkled her nose. "Who? Hold on, let me check." Holding the receiver on her shoulder, Harmony brought up Angel's Outlook calendar with her right hand while blowing on the freshly-painted nails on her left hand. "Sorry, he's not on the schedule. Well, how should I know?" She paused, chewing her lower lip. "Angel said I'm not supposed to let in random demons anymore, even if they have business cards…he isn't? Well," she peered around the wall into Angel's empty office. "I guess he could squeeze in five minutes. Send him up." She hung up the phone absent-mindedly, scrutinizing for nicks in her polish.  
  
The next time she looked up, some guy going for a pirate look was headed toward her desk.  
  
"Mr. Harris?" She gave him a suspicious once-over.  
  
"Harmony?" His eyebrows shot up.  
  
"Do I know you?"  
  
"Do you _know_ me? You made my life hell for 12 years."  
  
"You live in Hell? Do you have a business card?"  
  
He sighed. "Harmony. It's me, Xander. I dated Cordelia, you mocked me incessantly, our high school blew up and you're Angel's _secretary_ now?"  
  
"Oh, Xander!" She beamed. "How _are_ you? I haven't seen you in, like, forever!"  
  
He stared at her incredulously. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I work here." She smiled proudly, straightening her name plate. "Wow, what happened to your eye?"  
  
"Well, I-"  
  
"Can you believe it about Spike? Omigod, you _have_ to catch me up on everyone." She looked up at him expectantly.  
  
"Harmony," he began, then stopped. "Harmony, can I just talk to Angel?"  
  
"Oh, right, okay. I mean, no."  
  
"I …_can't_ talk to Angel?"   
  
"Duh! He's not here. He's off negotiating with some Feldig tribe or whatever. You can wait in his office, though." She waved a hand toward the door. "He's got cable in there, if you can find the remote."  
  
"…thanks." With one last puzzled look at the vampire cheerfully arranging ceramic unicorns on her desk, Xander stepped into Angel's office.  
  
~  
  
"Harmony, make a note: next time I deal with _anyone_ of the Mzarik species, I'm bringing gloves. _And_ boots." Angel wiped the goop off of his felt fingers as best he could and with a little hop, tossed the ruined handkerchief up onto Harmony's desk.  
  
Harmony picked it up with two fingers and dropped it in her wastebasket with a grimace of distaste. Standing, she peered over the edge of her desk. "Look, Boss, you wanted me to find clients you could meet with like this, and I did. Those Feldig -whatevers may be slimy, but they also don't have eyes. It's not _my_ fault you're all sensitive and stuff about your…condition."  
  
"It is not a condition!" he snapped. "It's just - I'm almost - when's my next appointment?"  
  
"Ummmm… you have a 5:30 conference call with the Jankl'r ambassador, but I can reschedule if you want to get cleaned up first."  
  
"And how am I supposed to do that? Jump in a washing machine?"  
  
Harmony's eyes lit up. "Ooh, I've always wanted to try-"  
  
"Harmony," he cut in. "Just tell me when he calls, all right?"  
  
"Fine," she answered, sitting back down in a huff. "Oh! Angel, I forgot, there's -"  
  
"I'll handle it later, Harmony. Just - don't let anyone in, okay?"  
  
"But-"  
  
"Harmony!"  
  
"Fine," she muttered again, glaring at the door as he disappeared through it.  
  
~  
  
The television was on when he entered the room and his heart leapt at the possibility of _Smile Time_ before he could stop it.   
  
"Stupid spell," he grumbled. Fred had promised it would lift soon, and he was feeling more like himself, but these damn puppet emotions were still hanging around. He made his way over to the TV, noting again how much longer it took to get anywhere when your legs were 12 inches long. The unexpected sight of the man seated in his chair startled him and he stopped watching where he was going. His stupid puppet feet tripped over a stupid power cord that he would never have noticed if he weren't a stupid puppet, and he face-planted into the carpet.  
  
"Mmmph," he grunted into the carpet fibers. Maybe if he had actual lips instead of these stupid flaps of fabric, he could have said something more intelligent.  
  
"Angel?" The man's head snapped up, and he turned his head to the left.   
  
"Yeah," answered Angel from behind the conference table.  
  
"What are you doing back there?" Xander rose half-way from the chair.  
  
"Lookig for by dose," came the stuffed-up reply. "There id is." A moment later, three small felt fingers curled around the edge of the table and Angel drew himself to a standing position.  
  
Allowing the chair to roll away behind him, Xander slowly came around the edge of the table. "Angel?"  
  
Angel felt his eyebrows tilt downward in a V. Great. The Boy. Because he hadn't heard enough sarcastic remarks yet that day.  
  
"Angel?" Xander put a hand over his mouth. His shoulders twitched.  
  
"Don't."   
  
"But - you're a puppet!" With that, the twitching turned to full-blown guffaws. "Angel, what the hell happened?"  
  
"Nothing." Angel folded his arms crossly. "Was there something you needed?"  
  
Xander put a hand up while he tried to stop laughing long enough to answer. "That's a great look for you. Very now."  
  
"Xander, what are you doing here?"  
  
"What, the mousse doesn't work on that hair?"   
  
"This is all very amusing, but I have work to do. Can we get on with it?"  
  
Xander continued chuckling, reaching under his patch to wipe away a few tears. That eye was always a little leaky. The action sobered him a little, and when he looked back up, he was no longer the teenager Angel remembered.  
  
"Seriously, are you okay?" He was still smiling, but his eyes were more somber.  
  
Angel sighed. "I'm fine. It'll go away in a few days. It was just a stu- it was just some spell." His plastic eyes widened. "Is Buffy okay?"  
  
"She's fine," reassured Xander. "At least, I assume she is. I haven't talked to her in a few weeks. Phone connections in Africa are hell," he shrugged.  
  
"Oh. So … what are you doing here?" Angel stuffed his hands into the pockets of his mini-duster.  
  
Xander sighed and looked out the window. "Hey," he said, realization dawning. "Does the puppet thing make you not a vampire? No more sunlight allergies?"  
  
"Ah, no," Angel admitted. "Those are special windows."  
  
"Oh." Xander began circling the office. "You got a nice TV, too. Hi-Def?"  
  
Angel nodded.  
  
"Lotsa weapons, private elevator, helicopter… I heard you had a nice set-up." He picked up a small wooden sculpture, turning it over and over in his hands. "Andrew called," he explained. "Andrew calls every week," he added with a sigh.  
  
Angel considered taking a seat, but he didn't care for the undignified way he had to scramble up onto his chairs, so he settled for leaning casually against the wall.  
  
"So everyone's doing okay here? I saw Wesley in the hallway. He looks … different."  
  
"We've been through a lot."  
  
"Yeah. We kept meaning to visit, especially for Cordy's … well. Evil-fighting doesn't exactly offer time off for funerals, you know?"  
  
Angel's jaw tightened and his hands fisted in his pockets. Xander's eyes met his and flitted away quickly.  
  
"It's a good desk," Xander commented, nodding to himself as he ran a hand over the wood. "Good workmanship."  
  
Angel recalled that Xander had been a carpenter. Had been? Was? His information on the Sunnydale crew was sketchy. It was hard to picture the boy in such an adult occupation. "Xander," he began.  
  
"Willow made me come," said Xander abruptly. "She just kept bugging me and bugging me … you know how they can be. I keep telling her to quit wasting her minutes on international calls, but she never listens." He turned so his right side was facing Angel. "Aren't you going to ask?"  
  
"Ask what?" said Angel uncomfortably.  
  
"What happened to my eye, right? What's with the pirate look?"  
  
Angel looked away.  
  
"I'm okay with it, really. I wasn't … for a long time, I wasn't." He squinted his eye in the sunlight, looking out over the city. "Anger, denial, all that stuff. Some holy guy in Zambia walked me through it." He shrugged, glossing over the period.  
  
"I'm sorry." Angel knew the words were inadequate, but had nothing else to offer.  
  
Xander nodded absent-mindedly. "Do you feel like yourself in that body?" He turned, his eye focusing on Angel. "Do you miss who you were?"  
  
Suddenly, Angel wished more than he had all week that he was no longer made of felt. It was ridiculous to have such a conversation while three feet tall. He straightened. "I'm still me. I'm just … shorter."  
  
"Not to go all afterschool-special on you, but do you feel like you've learned something about yourself?"  
  
Angel could feel his eyebrows dipping down again, his comically large frown growing deeper. "I - you could say that, I guess." He thought of Nina, of scrambled eggs. "Yeah, you could say that."  
  
"Willow thinks you should fix me."   
  
The words were a surprise, the change in subject jarring. "Me?"  
  
"You, Wolfram & Hart, whatever. It's all the same thing now, right? You've got the magic and the dollars to make it happen. According to Willow." He was staring intensely and Angel was suddenly glad puppets didn't sweat.  
  
"Listen, Xander, this is complicated stuff. I don't think you want to go messing around with -"  
  
"I didn't say I wanted to."  
  
"What?"  
  
Xander walked back over to the window. "I told you what Willow thinks. I never said I agreed. Can you do it?"  
  
"I don't know, Xander, there are doctors, shamans, supplies to consider. I don't even know what cost center it would-"  
  
"Can you do it?" Xander repeated.  
  
Angel sighed. "Probably."  
  
Nodding, Xander began flipping a letter opener through the fingers on his left hand. The metal flashed in the light of the setting sun and Angel found it difficult to look away.  
  
"What happened to your face?" Xander said suddenly, nodding at the claw marks marring the felt.  
  
"Oh," Angel put a hand to his forehead. "Um, nothing. My - a, uh, a werewolf tried to…eat me."  
  
Xander raised an eyebrow. "Bummer."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They sat quietly for a moment.  
  
"So vampires get scars, then?"  
  
Angel nodded. "Some more visible than others."  
  
"Must end up with a lot of 'em, after so many years."  
  
"Yeah," was all Angel said.  
  
"I look at mine, sometimes. Pull off the patch to sleep or something and catch a glimpse in the mirror. It's weird."  
  
"Life's weird."  
  
"Pretty much." Xander frowned, stopping the motion of the letter opener. "I'm not who I was before the eye thing. But who is? We're all supposed to change, right? I mean, that's what being human -" His voice trailed off as Angel looked away. "Man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."  
  
The statement hung in the air as the two of them contemplated the fact that Xander had just apologized for insulting Angel.  
  
"Times change, huh?" offered Xander wryly. "Making fun of souled vampires just ain't what it used to be."  
  
"What do you want, Xander?" Angel finally asked.  
  
Xander sighed. "I don't know. To see, I guess. What's possible." His fingers plucked at a thread in the worn flannel shirt he wore. "Are you happy, Angel? I'm not talking curse-lifting happiness, just … regular person happy."  
  
"I don't know. I get by. Try to do what's right. It's not so bad here. I know Bu - everyone is worried about me working at Wolfram & Hart, but I think we can make a difference. Some days, that's enough." He shrugged. "Plus, there's this girl…"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Actually - she's the werewolf I was talking about. She didn't mean to eat me," he added.  
  
"Huh. So, she's seen you like this?"  
  
"Yup. Didn't matter to her. Other than the, uh, eating part."  
  
"Cool. So," Xander held back a smile. "Did you get felt up?" He snorted in laughter.  
  
Angel gave him the most withering glare his puppet features could muster. "What is it with you guys and puns?"  
  
"C'mon, big guy, puns are fun. I once entered ten of them in a contest, hoping one would win, but no pun in ten did." He grinned broadly.  
  
Angel discovered that puppets could, in fact, roll their eyes.  
  
Xander looked down, still chuckling to himself. Taking a deep breath, he looked up to meet Angel's eyes. "I'm not gonna do it."  
  
"Do it?" repeated Angel.  
  
"Get a new eye." He squinted at the last rays of the sun stretching out from the horizon. "That's not me anymore. I'm cool, world-traveling, evil-fighting, scar-having guy. It's not a bad place to be, you know?" He looked back at Angel. "Yeah, I guess you do know."  
  
Angel nodded. He didn't know whether to commiserate or congratulate, so he said nothing. The sun finally set, the remaining artificial light leaving the room oddly bright.  
  
"I guess I'll get going, then." Xander stepped back from the window.  
  
"You - need a place to stay or anything?"  
  
"Nah, I'm good. Have Watcher's Council VISA, will travel. Thanks, though." He reached out and ruffled Angel's hair before the puppet could squirm away.  
  
"Hey!" protested Angel.  
  
"Sorry," Xander grinned, his 16-year-old self peeking through. "Couldn't resist."  
  
"Right," he grumbled, smoothing the synthetic fabric back down. Now he'd have to sneak one of those little brushes Harmony used on the unicorns. Again.  
  
"I'll see ya, Angel." Xander carefully placed the letter opener on the desk and headed for the door.  
  
"Xander!" Angel blurted out as the other reached the door.  
  
"Yeah?" He turned, hand on the doorknob.  
  
"…congratulations."  
  
A smile, a man's smile, and then he was gone.


End file.
